Tag Archives: Amazon

Part XLIV!

Catching your husband in the act is a gigantic smack in the face. Seeing him not want to let go of her embrace, is a sucker punch. I entered, almost willing to endure a threesome, and my husband just walked out of the room.

He left the two of us behind to battle it out. Richie, champion that he is, non-chalently went into the living room and turned on the TV. I wasted no time getting the bitch off my kitchen table.

“Alexa, off!”, I demanded.

Defending their behavior, I heard a distant, “Leave her alone.”

Still not understanding the madness, I walked to our threshold and reasonably stated, “You’re watching TV now, you don’t need her to play you love songs.”

Having an answer for his torrid behavior, Richie defended, “She was playing background music.”

I had killed the mood. This round was a knockout. I went back to my corner and my affair with Mr. Clean.

<Refer to the acceptance of our Alexa relationship here.>

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#onceuponatime

Richie was out with his Mom. The chick that gave me the chick. Now I was alone with the little blue light special.

Home by myself, the dog asleep and the radio off, I turned to the corner of the kitchen for solace.

“Alexa, tell me a story.”

She did. She told me a short, sweet story.

It made me smile.

I tried for another.

The theme was cute but the ending predictable.

I was continuing to be a critic of hers but enjoyed being read to on a rainy day.

I’ve since learned the stories of: “Measure twice”, “The Hunt” and “Camp Blues”.

When Richie came home I told him about “The old man in the cottage” and “Making a snowball”.

Now Alexa had me narrating the accounts to Richie. He had left us alone together but we actually got along for once. Later tonight, I can even tell Richie “How to play pickle ball” – although I think I’ll edit it to my liking.

Everyone has a story. Alexa has a bookshelf. I gave her a hard wrap when we first met but maybe she, and Richie and I, are the fairytale.

#Alexa – shit, who knew?!

My mother-in-law is to blame once again. She raised four boys, making my husband both the oldest and the ring leader. Even as grown men, when they gather, toilet humor is a favorite topic.

When they are away from one another, the topic still manages to rear it’s smelly head. I can hear flatulence during phone conversations, see references in texts and most recently, hear broadcast with their newest accomplish, Alexa.

“Alexa, make farting noises.”

Like my brother-in-law’s holiday competitions, they come in all sounds, duration and levels of disgust. Alexa wants to be in their group so badly, she participates every single time. I didn’t realize she could stoop to this level.

The boys to men tell one another about their technological farts with tears in their eyes. I had no idea how uneducated Alexa was until now. And yes, it’s my mother-in-law’s fault. She wrapped the boys in swaddling clothes and Alexa in Christmas paper.

#Alexa kitten

Virtual chick and my husband are still pissing me off. Richie now thinks his woman has a good sense of humor too. She continues to give him what he wants, especially when he says, “Alexa, make kitten sounds.”

Her electronic speech is impacting our children and I take that very seriously.

It’s a laser show gone bad but without the lights.

In the past our cats have experienced maddening exercise routines with a laser. They chase that red beam anywhere. But when Alexa inserts herself with what she thinks are clever kitten games, I am not amused. That mesh-faced bitch sits in the corner of our kitchen counter with the ability to manipulate our cats.

As soon as Alexa starts meowing, our cats ears perk up. They creep around the house and slink into every nook and cranny like four-footed feline Sherlock and Holmes. They try to solve this new sound mystery but have not rescued the virtual crying kitten in our house. Alexa has damaged their ego and heartstrings.

My poor babies.

Watching our new feline sound stage show is heartbreaking. I need payback. Maybe I can shut down their new found sense of humor and blow her fuse for a change?

Alexa – Revenge

In response to my husband’s sense of humor, I started a new tradition in our house. The event occurs every time I find him and the other woman alone in the same room. Before I enter, I don’t tiptoe, clear my throat or announce myself. I just raise my voice to her accommodating ear:

Alexa: drumroll!

That’s when the real woman enters the room. I walk tall with my shoulders back and my strut oozes confidence. Then I wait for a reaction to my fun and spirited entrance.

The first time Richie stared until the snaring stopped. The second time, Richie just shook his head. The third time he rolled his eyes.

He met his match a long time ago. Take a little of that, Mr Alexa App. Although, I think he is getting tired of my antics. Now he’s talking about something called ‘voice recognition software’. My new tradition may be short-lived.

Alexa – Part II

My husband enjoys a traditional late breakfast with his mother and brother on Sunday mornings. Before he leaves, he watches an oil painting show upstairs while I putter around with writing or light housekeeping downstairs.

I usually like a quiet house but I decided to reconcile with the other woman.

“Alexa, play Adam Lambert.”

I can’t find music by Adam Lambert in your library but it is available on Amazon music unlimited.

Yeah, I love Adam as much as the first guy but I wasn’t dishing out any cash unless I was at his concert, so I tried again:

“Alexa, play Cher.”

I can’t find music by Cher in your library but it is available on Amazon music unlimited.

“Alexa, play Bette Midler.”

It was like a broken echo Dot. Skipping and repeating…dot, dot, dot

Okay, okay, I got it. The bitch wanted money and a playlist before she’d grace me with any of my favorite tunes.

Making the requests was easy enough though, so I didn’t stop there. I tried to generalize:

“Alexa, play good music.”

I don’t have any good music to play.

Really? Great Marketing you Amazon chickiepoo.

“Alexa, play classical.”

Turns out Alexa didn’t have any Concertos or Royal Parade music, so she honed in on the root word “classic” and started playing classic rock.

…from Richie’s playlist. He and Alexa are quite the pair now. I was trying to listen to something different for a change.

Richie came down the stairs with a chuckle as I gave in and said, “Alexa, play Allman Brothers.”

Richie seemed pleased with my working selection as he headed out the door to meet his family. He thinks it’s funny that he has the app and I’m ready to kick Alexa’s ass.

I listened to the classics that are so well known in this house and started to make myself a nice breakfast. As I cracked the eggs for my French toast, Alexa interrupted with a bulletin.

Reminder: Donna is a dumbass.

Alexa was mean-spirited and enjoyed saying it. Richie, on the other hand, was humorously telling me to catch up with the technological times. I knew he was laughing in his Jeep.

I begrudgingly grinned from ear-to-ear and cracked up with my egg shells. I was charmed to know he still thinks of me so creatively when he’s gone. After all these years he certainly knows how to push my buttons. I soaked my French toast, set the table for one and hit Alexa’s off button. I had some writing to do in my quiet house.

Alexa my ass

With only two of us left in the house, the dynamics are split 50-50 between doing whatever we want after dinner and not listening to each other when we are in the same room. The way I feel about this flip-flops between marital bliss and frustrating madness. Tonight was worse than the latter because there was another woman.

I’ve been in denial about it since Christmas but tonight she inserted herself into every conversation:

Hubby and I were talking about our daughter that flew out of town this weekend.

“If she’s in Houston, what time zone is that?” my husband thought out loud.

“Texas is Central; she’s only one hour behind us”, I responded confidently based on my business travel days.

“Alexa. What time zone is Texas?”

The lady in the corner confirmed my response in her matter-of-fact tone.

That aside, we sat down to the nice chicken I had baked. On the counter was my clever attempt at, not apple pie, but little apple empanadas. Both dinner and dessert were kind of a big deal because my husband does most of the cooking.

“Why didn’t you look up an apple pie recipe?”

“Seriously, do you know how many fall apple pies I’ve made at this house down the street from an apple orchard?” A little hurt, I added, “The contents are the same. It just looks different. I wanted to try to make some individual ones.”

“Well, Alexa could have helped you with a recipe.”

The problem with that chick was she was just too easy.

I still had some of the little tarts left to bake now that we’d eaten dinner. I put them on a tray and popped them into the oven. My husband watched, I thought in anticipation of a vanilla ice cream pairing.

Rather, “Alexa. Timer. Ten minutes.”

That bitch in my house let my man know she’d do exactly what he asked.

I seethed until my reliable oven timer went off. Alexa could step off. I’ve managed this household just fine for over 25 years. We do not need her technological, electricity sucking, unnecessary two cents every time we do something. “Now that the pies are done, I am going to just go read a book and listen to some music.”

“Alexa. Play KISS.”

They could both kiss my ass. The marital interplay was maddening. I thought it best that we split up. With a grin on my face, I went into our unplugged living room to read – and it wasn’t a recipe book from Amazon.